April 25, 2008 –  Pastor Steve McLean is not from the country, but he and I share a love for it, as both of us feel we are closer to life and death here – Steve says closer to Creation. Friday evening, we sat in his back yard with Mongo eating peanuts, and Steve told me he thought God was in fact whispering to me, as has been suggested although sometimes he communicated more forcefully. He says to be patient, and wait and listen.
  A bull had just been wandering in his back yard, and was retrieved by the farmer, touting a bucket of grain.
  Steve is the real deal when it comes to spirituality – a true soul saver, and a passionate shepherd for the lucky souls in his Church. He seems to be watching over all of them all the time, and when he isn’t doing that, he is saving souls, fighting for the Lord, rushing to put out fires for the Argyle Volunteer Fire Department.
  He once held a regular meeting called Doubters Anonymous for people outside faith. He said he wanted nothing more than for these people to know God.
  The outcome, he said, was uncertain.
  Steve is from Philly, and he retains the sharp, saccent and quick wiseacre humor known there. He misses nothing, and is happy to argue points of religion or spirituality.
  The minute I arrived, he started razzing me about saying in this blog that the Bible was oppressive reading, then quoting from it the next day.
  He is, by his own admission, an extrovert (to say the least) as well as a passionate consumer of barbecued potato chips.
  We sat eating peanuts and watched the skies cloud up, as Mongo sat alongside.  Mongo is one of those silent, easy, affectionate dogs, who stares intently at the cows and tilts his ears at the sound of a distant baseball game and the cracking of bats. Steve watches him closely to make sure he doesn’t wander from the yard.
  I think you can tell a lot by watching a man and his dog. Mongo really belongs to Steve’s son Josh, who travels a lot, and I love watching Steve and this rescue pit bull.
  Mongo likes to hang out with Steve, who probably wouldn’t have a dog if it weren’t his son’s dog (that is just a guess.) When Steve is leaving the house, he says to Mongo: “Mongo, please go to your room. Thank you.” And Mongo does.
    I asked Steve if he loved the dog, and he was uncharacteristically cautious. “I am very fond of Mongo. But I am careful how I use the word love.”
  I suspect that was a qualified yes, shaped by the idea that he uses the same term when referring to God. It seems to me that these two have bonded, and have a need of one another.
  If God is Steve’s business, and he is good at it, dogs are mine.
  It was a precious time, sitting in Steve’s backyard, eating peanuts, talking about religion, sitting between a spiritual hound and a heavenly one. And I am grateful for it.